to write' is, that you are AFRAID NOT TO," she finished with a little
laugh of satisfaction.

And Brian Kent, as he watched her glowing face and felt the sincerity
and confidence that vibrated in her voice, was thrilled with a new
courage. The fires of his inspiration shone again in his eyes, as he
answered, with deep conviction, "Auntie Sue, I believe you are right.
What a woman you are!"



CHAPTER XII.

AUNTIE SUE TAKES A CHANCE.


So Brian wrote his book that winter.

When the days were fair, he worked with his ax on the mountain-side. But
his notebook was ever at hand, and many a thought that went down on the
pages of his manuscript was born while he wrought with his hands in the
wholesome labor which gave strength to his body and clearness to his
brain. In the evenings, he wrote in the little log house by the river,
with Auntie Sue sitting in her chair beside the table,--the lamp-light
on her silvery hair, and her sewing-basket within reach of her
hand,--engaged with some bit of needlework, a book, or perhaps with one
of her famous letters to some other pupil, far away. The stormy days
gave him many hours with his pen, and so the book grew.

And always as the man endeavored to shape his thoughts for the printed